


Five times...

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5 Times, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Jonny gets annoyed, and the one time he's ashamed of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times...

**Author's Note:**

> part of the "5 times 1 time" thing
> 
> hope you enjoy

Jonny was minding his own business and Patrick throws a full water bottle at him.

 

Jonny always tried his best to talk things out with him, especially after a loss, and Patrick would usually comply, no struggle necessary. Jonny admired this in him; he himself could be stubborn when it came to losing, and having someone around that carried the blame lightly was refreshing, in a way.

 

What isn't refreshing is the water bottle hitting him square in the face, thrown from the other end of the locker room when they are breaking for the 2nd intermission, down by 3.

 

Jonny had been quick to look for who had thrown it, at first confused as to why any of his teammates would be that immature. He saw Patrick, and the thought hadn't occurred to him that, obviously, he would still be mad. They had just played one of the worst, if not _the_ worst, shift together in their entire careers, and Patrick had left the ice, sending numerous choice words in Jonny's direction. He didn't take it personally.

 

Jonny instinctively brought his hand up to his forehead, which now was throbbing in pain.

 

“What the fuck, you asshole?” he shouts, and Patrick shrugs away, ignoring him.

 

Everyone knows to leave them alone. So naturally, no one questions it when Jonny marches over to Patrick's stall and pushes him into a sitting position. He stands over him, waiting for Patrick to say something. He doesn't, so Jonny does.

 

“Don't blame _my_ ass for this, Pat.”

 

“Oh believe me, it's not your ass. _That_ thing might've actually blocked the shot.”

 

“I'm not fuckin' d-man, you idiot,” Jonny growls. He's blushing and he feels it. Fuck.

 

Patrick just laughs. He doesn't respond, so Jonny goes back to fixing his tape, head still hurting, from more besides the water bottle.

 

–

 

Patrick never separates the lights and darks when he does laundry.

 

This annoys Jonny to no end.

 

He catches him in the act one day, waking up from a quick nap on the couch, and he walks into the utility room of their apartment to see Patrick carelessly dumping a basket of clothes into the washing machine. Jonny grits his teeth and stands in the doorway, unknowing to Patrick, who is clearly so focused on fucking Jonny's system up. Jonny coughs lightly, and Patrick swings around to face him.

 

“Hey buddy, good nap?” he says innocently.

 

Jonny scowls. “You're not doing it right.”

 

“What? The laundry?”

 

Jonny pushes him aside and reaches into the washing machine to empty out the clothes already inside. He piles them up on the floor, ignoring Patrick's comments. “Jon, what the hell, man?”

 

Jonny sighs. “Lights and darks, Pat. It's not rocket science!” It comes out more like a whine than a demand, like he intended, but he doesn't care, because Pat throws his hands up, exasperated, and walks out, leaving him to sort the clothes himself.

 

“Fine, Jon. Do it yourself.”

 

“I will, dumbass!”

 

Jonny hears Patrick laugh. That wasn't part of the plan. Jonny wants to smile, and he wants to laugh too, but living with a human dumpster wasn't that funny. Patrick was a terrible roommate, housemate, whatever it was. He never did his chores the right way, he hardly picked up after himself, and Jonny was starting to think he did it on purpose just to get under his skin.

 

He hears the TV turn on in the living room. Jonny storms out, abandoning the laundry.

 

And there is Patrick, splayed out on the couch, remote in hand. Jonny gazes at him for a moment. He looks so natural. When Patrick wasn't paying attention, Jonny often did find himself staring. He couldn't help it. Patrick was, in the weirdest sense of the word, beautiful. But not right now. Jonny snatches the remote from his hand and turns the TV off.

 

Patrick cries, “Dude, what the fuck is your problem?”

 

“You,” responds Jonny, raising his eyebrows in polite accusation. “Do you do your chores half-ass just so I have to take over and do them for you?”

 

Patrick scoffs, and he lunges toward Jonny, reaching for the remote. Jonny jumps back, holding out a hand to Patrick, and lifting the remote high above his head: he loved watching Patrick's height disadvantage in action.

 

“Give it to me!”

 

“Nope. Go do the laundry.”

 

“But you do it better!”

 

Jonny smiles. Patrick stands his ground. This makes Jonny laugh. He was so stubborn and it was the most adorable thing.

 

“I know. But how do you expect to get better at it if you never do it?”

 

Patrick shakes his head and eyes Jonny, and in complete seriousness, says, “Jerk.”

 

“You know it.”

 

Patrick trudges to the utility room, and Jonny, content with his personal victory, plops down on the couch and turns the TV back on.

 

–

 

“Sugar! Yes please!”

 

“Shut the fuck up, _please._ ”

 

Patrick usually has complete dominance over the radio stations in Jonny's car when they drive to practice. Of course, he always turns it to the Top 40 and Jonny is less than amused, mostly because Patrick is a terrible singer, but also because Jonny only listens to country. There are times and places for singing, and his car should not be one of them, especially if it's a band like Maroon 5. Jonny _hates_ Maroon 5.

 

“Oh, be quiet. Do you know what fun _is_ , Jonny?”

 

Jonny keeps his eyes on the road, desperately trying to block out Patrick's failed high notes. It was torture. How did he deal with this kid every damn day? He was tempted, if only for a second, to slam on the brakes on the middle of the freeway and knock “Sugar” right out of Patrick's vocabulary.

 

“Yeah you showww me good lovin', make it alright. Need a little sweetness in my liii-iiife.”

 

Patrick is facing Jonny in his seat and he playfully pokes his cheek. It takes all of Jonny's willpower to not turn red. Patrick is still singing. Jonny is being serenaded by an idiot with severe bedhead and a dorky smile and stupid dimples and all he could do was keep a straight face, both hands on the steering wheel.

 

Patrick reclines back in his seat and rolls down the window, causing the breeze to whip at his face, lifting his hair and messing it up even more than it already was. Jonny feels the embarrassment when he starts to turn the volume on the radio up.

 

“If we get pulled over because of this...”

 

Patrick can't hear him. His head is out the window, shouting lyrics at passing cars. It's still fairly early, and luckily for Jonny's pride, hardly anyone is out on the streets.

 

Jonny reaches for the volume knob and adjusts it so that the song is barely playing above a whisper. Patrick rolls up the window and looks at him. “Why do you hate me?”

 

Jonny bites his lip. The straight face is hard to keep.

 

“Why can't I have fun around here?” Patrick is grumbling and Jonny feels a twinge of sympathy, albeit a small one. He reaches over with one hand and rubs Patrick' shoulder, running his thumb around the same spot for a couple of seconds. Patrick shrugs his hand off. Jonny, faking offense, snatches his arm back and looks over. Patrick is red. _That_ got him to shut up.

 

“Done being obnoxious?”

 

“I dunno,” he replies, “done being a douchebag?”

 

Jonny tilts his head. “Fair enough.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“No you don't.”

 

“Is it because I'm a better singer?”

 

“Totally.” Jonny rolls his eyes. He pulls into the parking lot in front of the rink and parks. Before he can get out, Patrick points at the dash, and looks up at Jonny. “When we're done, you're letting me listen to my shit, got it?”

 

“Whatever you say, Pat.”

 

–

 

Jonny is dragging Patrick out of a bar, quite forcefully, and he isn't enjoying it one bit.

 

Leave it to him to be the one to start a fight. Patrick just _had_ to go out and get wasted for no reason, just happen to overhear a Red Wings fan talk about how much he hates the Blackhawks, and tackle him to the floor of a sleazy bar downtown.

 

Jonny tries not to be surprised when he does shit like this.

 

Drunk Patrick Kane weighs way more than the sober one, Jonny notices. He has his arms wrapped around him very tightly, not in a way he necessarily wants, as he half carries, half guides him out the door. Patrick is still shouting obscenities towards the guy, who is sporting a very swollen bottom lip and a blossoming black eye. Luckily for Patrick, no harm has come to his face, but his knuckles are bruised a bit, and Jonny worries.

 

Jonny grunts and heaves Patrick into the passenger seat of his car, parked on the side of the street. He hopes no one notices who they are; it shouldn't be a problem, though, Jonny remembered to grab one of Patrick's spare beanies before leaving the apartment after receiving a drunk text from the dude himself.

 

It was pathetic, and Jonny needed Patrick to know that.

 

Jonny positioned Patrick so that he wouldn't slump over, and he stood there, on the sidewalk in front of his car, holding him by the shoulders.

 

“Pat, what is _wrong_ with you?” he starts.

 

Patrick snarls, “That dumbfuck had the nerve to call us a bunch of pussies.” He hiccups, and Jonny feels him tense under his hold.

 

“You didn't have to beat him up”

 

“But he called you 'Chicago's Little Bitch.'”

 

Jonny, as much as he shouldn't, bursts out laughing. _So that's what this is about,_ he thinks.

 

“And I'm guessing,” Jonny says, forcing Patrick's head up, so that they're looking at each other face-to-face, “that you thought you'd try to defend me?”

 

Patrick nods and his head rocks to the side to collide with Jonny's arm.

 

“He couldn't get away with it. I wouldn't let him,” Patrick mutters. Jonny, making sure no one is walking by beforehand, leans in and plants a quick kiss on Patrick's cheek. He can smell the alcohol on him, and Jonny, who has never been much of a drinker, tries not to gag.

 

Patrick smiles. It's the dumbest thing Jonny's ever seen.

 

“Don't go around punching people for me, Pat. Got it?”

 

“'Kay, Captain.”

 

Jonny makes sure Patrick is buckled before closing the passenger-side door and walking around to the other side of the car. He drives them home and helps Patrick stumble into his room, watching as he doesn't even bother to change before diving into bed without so much as a goodnight.

 

Jonny goes to sleep thinking about the killer hangover Patrick will have tomorrow. That _idiot._

 

–

 

Jonny is just getting home from one of the longest days of his life.

 

Just today, he's done three photoshoots, a handful of fan promos, and an interview with some sports magazine, and all he's _wanted_ to do since he woke up this morning was stay home and watch Game of Thrones with Patrick on their day off.

 

His eyelids are drooping by the time he unlocks the door to the apartment.

 

Patrick is already looking comfortable on the couch, and when Jonny walks into the living room, he pats the spot beside him, smiling sweetly: the smile that drives him crazy.

 

“Saved you a seat, Toes.”

 

Jonny grins, then heads to the bedroom to get out of the terribly uncomfortable and fancier-than-normal outfit made up of jeans and a button-down. Throwing on some basketball shorts and one of Patrick's t-shirts lying around, he heads back out to the kitchen.

 

He's been looking forward to eating the rest of his Chinese takeout leftover from last night after the game they had had. When he opens the fridge, it's not there.

 

“Hey...Pat?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Did you...you didn't eat my noodles, did you?”

 

No answer. Jonny peers out at him from the kitchen, and Patrick rubs the back of his neck. That guilty motherfucker. Jonny sees it so clearly on his face: the realization that he has just fucked up big time.

 

“Patrick! What the fuck?”

 

Patrick jumps up from the couch and buries his head in his hands.

 

“Jon, I'm sorry. I was just so hungry and I didn't want to order a pizza or something because you weren't back yet and I didn't know if it was okay and I didn't think you'd notice your stuff was gone...”

 

Jonny just stands there, shoulders forward. His stomach growls. _Great. Add insult to injury._ He realizes he isn't listening to the rest of Patrick's excuses. All he focuses on is the gnawing hunger settling in his stomach. Why did he love this douchebag? The people you love shouldn't stab you in the back like this.

 

“Jon? Jon, are you okay?”

 

“You ate my fucking noodles. I can't believe you! I even wrote my fucking _name_ on the side of the box!”

 

“I said I was sorry...”

 

“Sorry?” Jonny exclaims, taking a step towards Patrick, who honestly looks a little scared. _Good,_ thinks Jonny. _I'll beat this punk up._

 

“If it makes you feel any better... they tasted pretty damn good...”

 

Patrick's lame attempt at a joke makes Jonny's blood boil. He takes a breath and blows it out slowly, contemplating what to do next. He could beat him up, but then again, Patrick was sounding awfully genuine for something so stupid. Maybe Jonny was just being stupid. _No. He's not getting away with this._

 

“Go pick up Chinese Patrick. I'll start this episode without you.”

 

“You wouldn't dare.”

 

“Oh,” answers Jonny, a sly smile on his face, “I would.”

 

Game of Thrones was their thing. They would wait for each other to watch the newest episodes, and sometimes the temptation to start without the other was almost too much to handle, but Jonny would always suppress it. Not tonight.

 

“Remind me why I even like you again?” Patrick says, walking past Jonny into the kitchen, where he grudgingly began searching for his car keys on the counter.

 

“Because.” Jonny watches Patrick find his keys and turn to look at him.

 

“Because?”

 

“Because.”

 

There are Patrick's dimples. Jonny is staring, and Patrick's legs are spread and he stands like he knows what he's doing to him. Unintentionally, Jonny licks his lips, and Patrick giggles like the dumbass Jonny knows he is. He reverts back to all seriousness.

 

“Go. I'm hungry, here. Maybe if you hurry, I won't get that far into the next episode.”

 

Patrick nods slowly, eying Jonny carefully.

 

“Sorry again.”

 

Jonny just shakes his head and goes to sit on the couch, finally deciding to turn the TV off until Patrick gets back with dinner.

 

–

 

They're watching a playground full of kids, the summer after the Cup run, and Jonny hopes they don't look like pedophiles.

 

Jonny had been the one to invite Patrick back to Winnipeg with him once they'd each had their day with the Cup, and Patrick had, of course, agreed. If there was one thing Patrick liked more than hockey, it was being in Winnipeg, as much as he didn't like to admit it.

 

Jonny grew up down the street from this park. Usually when he visited home, he'd come here, and he'd sit and watch as the new generation swung on the swings he used to use, or slid down the slides he used to play on. Deciding to bring Patrick here had been a new step in his sacred ritual.

 

He looks at Patrick sitting next to him out of the corner of his eye.

 

Patrick catches him.

 

“Like the view?” he asks, turning his head to smile.

 

Jonny says nothing, but the corners of his lips are prying upwards towards his cheeks.

 

They've been sitting here for well over an hour. The sun, barely even visible over the line of trees in the distance, has dimmed, and the sky is breathtaking. Jonny loved that about Canada. He and Patrick fought over which of their home countries was more beautiful, and Jonny could easily use this evening as an example of why he always won.

 

Hardly any words have been spoken between them, and when the last child jumps from the seesaw and runs to his mother, Jonny feels the weight of silence on his chest. It isn't awkward, no, nothing was awkward between them.

 

Patrick is the first to speak again.

 

“How are you?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Just good?” he follows with, looking over to Jonny, who now looks back.

 

“Just good. This is good. Everything is good.” Jonny says, motioning towards them, towards the playground, and towards the empty field surrounding the bench they're sitting at.

 

“Me too,” Patrick says, shaking his head with a small laugh, “I feel you.”

 

It's quiet for a few more minutes. Jonny closes his eyes and takes deep breaths in. The calming sound of the crickets and cicadas drowns out the lack of words. He's almost dozed off when Patrick keeps talking.

 

“I really appreciate this.”

 

When Jonny doesn't answer, he continues.

 

“I love coming to Winnipeg,” he admits. Jonny's eyes are still shut and he is picturing Patrick, right next to him, either staring at him or staring straight up at the emerging stars.

 

“I love being with you, Jon. It's so peaceful. Everything just feels right, you know? No worries.”

 

 _Yes,_ Jonny thinks, nodding his head slightly at Patrick's words. _It'd be even more peaceful if you shut up._

 

“I think what I'm trying to say is...I love _you._ I'm pretty sure. Yeah, that's it.”

 

Oh.

 

As quickly as he'd closed his eyes, they're back open, and Jonny turns his head to look at Patrick, who, as he'd guessed, is gazing with much thought up at the sky. Jonny doesn't know what to say. Usually he has answers for Patrick, and usually he was able to make sense of whatever he did, but this?

 

He felt terrible for the thoughts he'd had a moment earlier.

 

Patrick doesn't look offended when he doesn't answer, because Patrick is Patrick, and Patrick understands how Jonny works. What he may not understand is that for the first time since meeting him, for the first time since figuring out his feelings for him, Jonny does not have any idea what to say.

 

But then the three words come quieter than Patrick had spoken them, and when he hears them, he smiles, and Jonny reaches an arm around his shoulders and lets him lean into him, feeling his weight against him. It was probably the best feeling in the world.

 

Jonny loves the most senseless, stupid, weird, idiot on the face of the Earth.

 

And damn, he's proud he can admit that.

 


End file.
